Instagram echo chamber (a poem)

I don’t want to be an influencer. I just want to be human.

I’ve been writing spontaneous poetry in my Notes app lately. Before I started writing books and creating for social media, I was a poet. I’m going back to the roots to rediscover my creative voice beyond the confines of polished Instagram content.

I think social media would be more fun if we stopped worrying about our “personal brands” so much and started sharing the full range of our thoughts and emotions.

I don’t want to be an influencer. I just want to be human.

This poem came out quickly – like a purge – as I reflected on the current state of the world…

Instagram echo chamber

I saw the best minds of my generation arguing in the comments of YouTube videos because the vibrant cafes had been converted to Starbucks and the corporate ambiance was not conducive for public discourse.

I’m scrolling through an endless sea of sponsored content and A.I. generated images searching for a semblance of human connection. The fairy tales promised us love but we had to settle for likes.

My friend can’t afford a therapist so she’s sharing her deepest secrets with ChatGPT. Her grief is uploaded to the cloud as the machine mirrors her pain with electronic empathy and perfect grammar.

The public square is a ghost town as we hide away in bedrooms, eyes glued to iPads while bombs fall in faraway nations funded by our tax dollars.

My conservative friends left me for being too liberal. My liberal friends left me for being too conservative. So now I’m sitting beside the river alone, watching frogs splash into the water.

Without a shared myth there is no community, only categories and subcategories of race, religion, gender, and ideology until we’re united only by our shared outrage and isolation. The people are pitted against each other while puppet masters laugh in the rafters unnoticed.

I’m lost inside an Instagram echo chamber listening to The Smiths on my AirPods, impulsively refreshing my feed as Morrissey sings, “If it’s not love then it’s the bomb that will bring us together.”

I’m worried that we won’t see beyond the veil of algorithm-induced reality tunnels until the power grid goes down and we’re forced to talk to our neighbors.

In a dream I saw us in a public park, gathered around a campfire, burning the last of the newspapers, sharing food and stories.

And truly seeing each other for the first time.

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Do you relate? Leave your thoughts in comments.

Also, if you also want to tap into your creative genius and reimagine your life, business, or personal brand, I’m hosting a free workshop called Your Next Chapter on June 15th. Learn more.